Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men series. All original characters in this work of fiction are mine to claim.

Author's Note:

iniquityfic: Hahaha, thank you! Your review made me day!

TheCaptainCarrot: That was my ultimate motto – until that happened to me with every single fandom I ever loved (which is practically every true fandom out there). I'm hoping you'll love this ending too then!

Happy Reading everyone!

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Epilogue

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."

Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

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Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters

Christmas Eve, Fifteen years later

It was that time when winter finally set in, when everything was dark and gloomy and the snow seemed endless. Because it was snowing. Again.

Classes had already ended early for that day – Christmas holidays had begun and Storm had been hard-pressed to force the students to actually pay attention to what had been going on. Particularly when Hank had descended on the manor with all his six-feet seven inches furry glory and using his self-proclaimed power as the official mutant diplomat, to demand an early break. Of course, he had been permanently confined to his side of the wing afterwards but he had still managed to get his way.

Stepping down the staircase, Isabel could still hear the sounds of their bickering over the excited chatter in the halls. Children huddled around, wrapped in tightly knit and bright sweaters, their high-pitched voices rising while the older ones helped with the final touches on the decorations.

Nightcrawler was sitting in one of the corners near the fireplace, surrounded by the younger children, as he told them the story of Christmas Eve, his solemn voice echoing in the sitting room. Nearby, Isabel saw Bobby and Rogue huddled together and they were smiling at something the other had said.

Waving at them, Isabel made her way out of the manor into the snow-covered grounds and then cursed, realizing she had forgotten to wear a proper jacket. Sighing, she ploughed on, figuring she might as well carry on.

"Kitty!" Isabel called as the slender girl turned around inquisitively from where she was balancing on an ice-skate using Peter for balance. "Have you seen Charles?"

Kitty paused contemplatively, tucking a stray dark lock behind a thick woolen hat and shook her head. "I think I saw him at the back but I'm not sure. Do you need some help?"

"No, no." Isabel shook her off. "You two continue. Honestly, this disappearing without warning phenomenon is all Logan's damn fault."

They both laughed at her and continued as Isabel made her way to the back, rubbing her arms for warmth. "Charles! Charles, are you there?"

Thanking God that the snow was light, she stopped when she saw her son's weedy profile against the gravestones. Silently, she made her way to him, kneeling beside him and saw that somehow he had managed to scrounge flowers to put on each of the three gravestones.

"Charles." She muttered disapprovingly, holding him close to her for warmth. "You should have told me or your father before coming out."

"But, Mama, I'm wearing three sweaters!" He protested immediately and then added from behind his glasses. "Besides, it's not like I left the house."

"Good God, you are just as argumentative as your father." Isabel retorted but with humor and Charles grinned at her, his face flushed with cold. He was the child who took after her – slender and pale – even his eyes were hers. "What are you doing out here?"

"I just thought the Professor needed some company tonight." He replied solemnly and Isabel was reminded that despite his intelligent outlook, he was still a child. Her heart twisted at his words and she drew him closer. Then he added. "And then I felt bad leaving Uncle Scott and Aunt Jean out."

"That was very thoughtful of you." Isabel murmured through compressed lips, fighting back a laugh at his view. "I'm sure the Professor would appreciate it."

"I think he would too." Charles replied seriously, his green eyes framed by glasses. "But I wish I could have met him."

"Oh, love." Isabel dropped a kiss on his head. "I wish that too. He would never have believed it."

'Or let me live it down, that man.' She thought amusedly, remembering that the Professor had read all of her initial opinions on Logan. They hadn't been very sweet – not at all, in fact. How, she wondered, how would the Professor have reacted to this?

She couldn't know exactly – she never would but she did know that he would have loved to be a part of it, to have seen it happen and her throat closed as all the many memories of the man she had admired, the man who had brought her to her present life, who had given her this chance, came rushing back to her.

"Mama?" Slowly Isabel became aware of Charles' concerned frown. "Mama, there's a lady there. She's staring at us."

Isabel glanced up in surprise – and then froze, taking in the blond-haired, slight woman standing there.

"Mystique." She stated hesitantly. Although she had long since been granted pardon, courtesy of Hank's intercession, Isabel had rarely met the woman and could never really bury the uncomfortable feeling whenever she saw her.

Mystique's mouth twisted scornfully. "Raven Darkholme now. But I don't expect you to ever remember that."

Isabel eyed her impatiently. This was probably why could never get along with the woman – with her vicious sneer and mocking taunts.

"Charles, why don't you go inside? I'll be out here for some time." Isabel sighed and rubbed her temples. "Clearly life as an ordinary human isn't treating you well."

Mystique laughed – a high, clear laugh. "And you'd know that so well, wouldn't you?" Her glittering eyes – still brightly colored – followed Charles retreating figure. "So you named your brat after Charles. Has he shown any powers? Or will he be one of the trash?"

"I don't care if my son is a mutant or not. All that matters is that he grows up to be a good man, a kind man and understands and respects others. Logan and I will be proud of him whether he had any powers or not." Isabel replied, her fists clenched and her head high, forcing her voice to remain level. "And we did. We couldn't have named him better."

Surprisingly there was so mocking retort and just when Isabel decided that Mystique didn't intend to reply, she did and her voice was impossibly soft. "Of course you couldn't."

The woman's eyes were fixed on the statue of Charles Xavier and as Isabel watched, she lifted a pale hand and traced the name etched into the stone. Her lips curved and she asked almost conversationally. "Did you know I knew Charles as a child? We grew up together."

Isabel thought back to the fatal day when the Professor had shown her the flashes of his life. She remembered the sadness in his voice: 'A long, long time ago. I dreamed too. To live with my wife, to have children, to see my sister happy and safe with me.'

But she didn't say anything because Mystique continued without pause. "I pretended to be his mother. He wasn't fooled for a minute. And when I showed him who I truly was, he didn't run away. He didn't scream, didn't curse me or call me a monster, a freak of nature. He was like me." She paused slowly. "He gave me a home – a family and every step of the way, he kept me with him. Until…."

Mystique gave a short, derisive laugh and it was tinged with the bitterness of a woman who had lost everything. "Eric was so persuasive. He convinced me that Charles' ideals would never amount to anything – and I believed him. And when he asked for it, after nearly killing Charles, I agreed to join him, to oppose the man I considered my brother. I thought that one day, one day when the world was run by mutants, when I had achieved the world I wanted I would force Charles to accept that I – that Eric – had been right. What a fool I was. A blind fool."

"I loved him." There was a sad edge to Mystique's voice – resignation and realization – and her eyes never lifted from the Professor's granite face. "But I never showed him how much."

Pity coursed through Isabel and it shocked her because she had never expected to feel such an emotion for the woman in front of her.

'A long, long time ago. I dreamed too. To live with my wife, to have children, to see my sister happy and safe with me.'…'Ah Isabel. It is too late for me, child. I am old and so are the people I dreamed to spend my life with. And most of all, I am happy with the life I led.'

"He was happy." She said finally, not knowing what to say. Mystique's eyes lifted to meet hers. "In the end, he was happy. His life didn't turn out the way he wanted but he was happy. He was loved - everyone here loved him with all their hearts."

Isabel paused and she realized that she had clenched her fists so tight she had cut through the skin of her palm. Finally, she said quietly. "He loved you too, you know. Until the very end."

Without looking back, Isabel turned and left, feeling a weight in her heart. At the entrance to the manor, she twisted back to glance behind her.

At the lone figure leaning in the snow, alone, and even at the distance, Isabel saw the tears glistening in her eyes.

Once inside, she leaned against the wooden doors, feeling morose. Regrets hurt, regrets pained one more than anything and Isabel prayed that she would never have any regrets once she died.

"Hey, you okay?" Logan's voice brought her out of her reverie and it was followed by a sharp tweak on her temple. Frowning, she focused on his dark eyes peering at her concernedly and she saw that their daughter, Jean, was happily perched on his shoulders, her red-green hat carefully placed on Logan's head. Scott lagged after them, a completely unimpressed expression on his face.

"Yeah." Isabel smiled reassuringly at him, squeezing his arm and then asked casually. "Is Hank dead yet?"

"Hankie's ground'd!" Jean crowed cheerfully, her high-pitched voice carrying into the hall. "Storm said forever and ever and ever."

"Did she really?" Isabel teased back, gently rearranging Scott's tousled hair and picking him up. "Now how will we ever save Hankie?"

Logan snorted at the name and tossed Jean so that she shrieked in glee and demanded to be thrown higher.

Isabel felt the cold leech away from her as she followed them into the sitting room, holding her younger son close to herself, where Nightcrawler was still telling his stories – in a dramatic script – and noticed a morose-looking Hank in the corner, a thoroughly glum expression on his face with Storm seated next to him, Charles curled around her, listening to her say something – probably advice about how to never be anything remotely like Hank.

'Are you there, Professor?' She wondered, as Logan gestured for her to sit down. 'This was your dream, wasn't it? To make a life for all the mutants in this world – to give them happiness. We are happy, we're very happy. Are you watching your dream become reality?'

Maybe it was the encounter with Mystique or the warmth of the atmosphere inside or the pine-tree scent of Logan against her but as she settled down, Isabel heard a distant voice and it sounded painfully, unwittingly familiar and it made her heart burst.

'I am.'

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Author's Note: I kept the huge Author's Note for the very last to conclude the story.

It's been more than a year since the story started. At the start the idea was very, very different but gradually, when writing the characters, it evolved to become something different. All I wanted was a story without any complex mysteries or new villains. I wanted a simple story about Logan and Isabel – a story where they met and gradually fell in love against the backdrop of the mutant war.

Many Logan/OC stories include a highly passionate romance. I didn't want that. Jean, Mariko – they were all brief affairs, brought around by attraction. This time I wanted something different – Logan and Isabel definitely didn't have that. They didn't even have love at first sight or second or third or the multiple sights after that. No, it took them both a long time to realize it – and, in Logan's case, differentiate between this and his feelings for Jean. They worked hard to understand each other, to understand themselves and the process was slow – very slow- but it did develop into friendship and then love. They became a family.

A note on the names: Charles, named after Charles Xavier, is the elder of their two children. Jean and Scott, named in honor of Jean Grey and Scott Summers respectively are twins and three years younger. Yes, the names are pretty cliché but this is what I felt would – should – happen which is why I loved all of Harry Potter's children's names. (Potterhead here, people!) Why name your children after random people instead of honoring those who were important to you?

A note on Logan's relationship with Jean. At the end of the last battle, I summed up everything he felt – in this story, Logan did feel attracted to her, felt that he loved her but I always believed that it was just that – just attraction. In the end, they were people who saved each other from themselves and they have a special bond. And the fact that Logan names his daughter Jean is to honor that bond – to acknowledge that she was an amazing person, a very strong woman, that she deserved happiness, that she helped him onto a path and that she would always be an important part of his life. On a related note, Logan and Isabel also acknowledged Scott by naming their younger son after him – in the end, Logan felt no rivalry with the man – because he no longer felt the old attraction for Jean. In the end, they were both his friends, both great mutants, and this was Logan and Isabel's way of acknowledging that.

In conclusion, I'd like to thank you all out there for taking this journey with me. For reading, for reviewing, for favouriting and for following. It has been your support which has brought me this far – which prompted me to complete this no matter how low the response was. I never expected – or anticipated – for this story to have such a huge response, which although fluctuating was always there. Thank you to you all!

Thus, Between Never and Forever, is now complete.

Your reviews, comments, (constructive) criticisms and ideas for what should have happened are always appreciated. I'd love to hear what you guys have to say. Thank you all!

R. A. StoryTeller